Everyone Needs A Project
by Freakypet
Summary: He had rescued her, in more than one way. Now she was going to rescue him. * This story developed from my "Gaslighting Sherlock" short fic. "Everyone Needs A Project" will be the continuing story of "Gaslighting Sherlock". Ratings may change as story develops. *


He had rescued her, in more than one way. Now she was going to rescue him.

This story developed from my "Gaslighting Sherlock" short fic.

* * *

I am trapped in this story - it is demanding to be written, so I will do my best to honour that while the muse speaks.

Disclaimer - All rights belong to those that actually own Sherlock. I'm just having some fun and will return him asap. No money gained from this - sob-

Un-brit picked and un-beta-ed - all mistakes are mine and mine alone. I would probably do better if I didn't write at 4am, but when the muse speaks, you listen.

* * *

Two Weeks Earlier -

Sherlock slowly woke and spat out the mouthful of dirt, shifting slightly so that his face was no longer plastered flat against the dirt floor. Creaking open one eye cautiously, he scanned the room, looking for any guards or escape possibilities. What he saw was a large spacious basement type room, simply made as though dug out from ground or wall and just left, with wooden slatted walls and door, dirt floor and simple steel poles. Rubbish was littered around, old petrol cans, paint tins, the odd rusted tool left forgotten in a corner. There was also more industrial garbage - broken office chair, a rusted filing cabinet missing a drawer, and piles of rotting cardboard boxes.  
Sherlock himself was tethered to a steel support beam and a wriggle of his hands told him it was rope, coarse, cheap, tied well. Escape possible, abrasions certain but no serious injuries.  
He strained to a sitting position, his shoulder resting against the beam as his arms hugged the cold metal and he resigned himself to swinging one leg around the beam to relieve the pressure on his back from the awkward position. From this position, he was able to shuffle around the pole and study the room in it's entirety.  
He was tied to the steel closest to the door, with the rest of the room stretching away. The opposite side of the room was the furthest part of the room and Sherlock noted that there seemed a sense of habitation there. A bucket - from the odor in the room, used as a temporary toilet - sat near the slatted partition and just past that was what appeared to be a whitish fabric. A pillow? The dirt seemed well shifted and packed down. He drew a breath to call out when a whisper beat him to it.  
"no. sshhhhhh." The whisper was barely able to be heard. Sherlock cocked his head and stretched to see around the partition wall.  
"sssstop." The whisper crept out softly again. Sherlock, taking heed of the voice, made it look like he was just stretching and trying to get out of his restraints. Which reminded him that he probably should try to escape anyway. Couldn't let John and Lestrade think he was just sitting around waiting to be rescued.  
With that, he set to working the ropes off his wrists. The rough cord cut and burned at his skin, his pale skin reddening quickly and just as he felt the rope start to slip, the door crashed open.  
Sherlock peered up at the large looming figure and rolled his eyes. John was going to crow about this for weeks, dammit! He had warned Sherlock that Peterson was not going to be working with the gang on his own, but Sherlock had been sure that the fire he lit on the other side of the warehouse would draw them all away. All except the asthmatic thug that is, who had stayed away and managed to clock Sherlock in the back of the head with a 2x4. Asthmatic. There was always something!  
Sherlock watched as the thug stomped over to him and grabbed the rope and checked it with a vicious skin tearing tug. Sherlock bit back the gasp at the burning stab of pain and glared up at the thug.  
"You know, if you lost 25kgs and moved out of your mother's place and away from her cats, you might even live past 50, otherwise you are going to die from an asthmatic attack before you even get close to 40."  
His deduction was met with a swiping backhand and a grunt, then with a cold glance to the other corner and a speaking nod at whoever was there, the thug stomped out and slammed the door, locking it behind him.

Sherlock wiped the blood from his mouth on his shoulder and within a minute, got the rope off his wrists. A quick wipe with his handkerchief on a few of the more bloodier parts of his wrists and he was standing by the door, ear pressed against the rough wood.  
Silence.  
His quick sweep earlier had shown no obvious surveillance cameras, but the shushing voice indicated that there might be a listening device of some sorts. Quickly and silently, his curiosity well and truly peaked, he made his way to the closed off corner of the room.  
Glancing around the corner, he saw the owner of the whisper crouching in the far corner.  
Female, approx 30, long brown hair - currently knotted in a pile on her head, approx 5'2 but couching so not sure, pale skin, bruising visible to face, arms and probably legs, dressed in filthy jeans and a singlet type top - colour indistinguishable due to covering of dirt but guessing once pink or white. Bare feet finished the woman's ensemble. As it was the middle of winter, her clothing was not conducive to cold weather, which indicated that she may have been here a while.  
She subtly raised her finger to her lips and pointed behind herself to one corner of the wall and Sherlock saw the tiny camera. With a swipe of his large hand, he snapped it from its position and threw it in the -thankfully - almost empty bucket. A sharp pop signaled its demise in the cess bucket and Sherlock couched by the woman. A raised eyebrow was met with a shake of her head.  
"That was the only one I know of." She replied softly.  
She shifted and a chinking sound drew the detective's attention. Unlike him, she had been tethered with a bit more care. Handcuffs and a chain which was bolted to the wall was apparently her leash. She smiled ruefully and held up the chains.  
"Yeah, I don't suppose you have the key?" She snarked mildly, the rueful smile never leaving her lips. Sherlock reached his hands out and she pulled away.  
"Don't worry about it. Just get out and maybe, just maybe, call the cops, let them know I'm here? But you gotta go now mate! Kane will be back soon, I'm not allowed visitors. " She chuckled, this time the despair leaked through her tight grasp.  
Sherlock tisked and grabbed the chain.  
"Never tell me what to do, I never listen." He winked to soften the harsh sounding words. A glance at the cuffs showed them to be high quality, not your everyday cop types, but still not a problem for Sherlock Holmes.

Within a second, he had his emergency pick out of it's secret spot in the cuff of his trousers and 11 seconds after that, the soft thud of metal hitting hard packed dirt.  
"Hmm, I've slipped. That took 7 seconds too long." He grumbled as he pushed the pick back into the slit in his trouser cuff.  
"You shitting me? I… I .." The woman stared in shocked wonder at the handcuffs lying open in the dust at her feet. Sherlock rolled his eyes again.  
"Yes yes, you're free, can you marvel over it later? I'm sure John will be here soon and I'd rather not be still locked up where he can crow about it." He spun and was at the door a heartbeat later.  
He was slightly surprised when he felt the woman press close behind him a second later.

"Well?" She hissed. "You got a magic pin for the door as well?" The laughter in her voice was clear to him and he felt equal parts of admiration and annoyance.  
A faint far off shout was heard and Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat. He knew that voice anywhere! More shouts and a few crashes and Sherlock cursed softly. He loved seeing John work and to be missing it…. He pounded on the door and yelled to the guard he supposed was somewhere.

A hiss of annoyance was all he heard from his rescued friend as he stepped back to allow space for the door to open. In one smooth and lightning fast movement, Kane burst through and threw himself on Sherlock, the air rushing from him as Kane's heavy fist drove into his diaphragm. Black spots danced before his eyes and he struggled to relax his frozen muscles as Kane punched once, twice more, huge ham fists driving harshly into his stomach.  
A piercing whistle caught both their attentions and they glanced up at the same time. Kane's face drained of blood in an instance and the grin on the woman's face was pure evil glee.  
"Oh yeah Kaney baby. Told you this day would come!" She sneered and Sherlock felt the mammoth man struggling to get off Sherlock. Sherlock took advantage of the man's inattention and punched up into the kidney, the same time the woman kicked out and with the heel of her foot, smashed the 6ft giant directly in the face. Blood exploded and Kane fell to the floor, muffled screaming echoing the room as he clutched his destroyed face. Sherlock kipped to his feet and paused as the woman delivered another punishing kick to Kane's shoulder. A clear cracking sound was heard and Kane shrieked, high and sharp. Sherlock raced to the door and looked through. No one was responding to Kane's cries, instead it seemed as though the commotion elsewhere was drawing all the attention. A glance over his shoulder showed Sherlock that the tiny woman was now leaning over the downed and sobbing man, clutching a handful of hair as she yanked his head back, whispering something into his ear. Then she reared back and with a solid punch to the side of Kane's head, felled the man unconscious. She stood tall in her 5'2 frame - he had been correct there -and spat down on the bleeding man.

Literally stepping ON Kane, she made her way to Sherlock's side and looked up at him, her mouth pursed and eyebrow raised, daring him to protest her violent actions. Instead he grinned widely at her, thoroughly impressed at the power and precision in the tiny person beside him. He always did have an appreciation for small, powerful people.

Minutes later, they were making their way to the noise at what Sherlock supposed was the front of the building. Surprisingly enough, he wasn't in some warehouse basement like his usual kidnappings. This time he was in what appeared to be an office building in the centre of the financial district. The odd room where Sherlock and his friend had been kept prisoner was apparently off a sub sub basement. As they climbed the staircase and found the ground floor, Sherlock could hear Lestrade ordering his men to search the entire premises.  
Opening the door to the stairwell, Sherlock and his new friend watched as Lestrade directed men to the lifts and stairs, throwing orders into the handheld walkie. Beside him, John was holding a short fat man dressed in a very fine business suit up against a mock marble pillar as he demanded to know where Sherlock was. The man was sneering, loudly declaring his innocence and how this behaviour was NOT going to be left unanswered.  
Sherlock - always one for a grand entrance - swept close before speaking.  
"No it will certainly NOT go unanswered, Michael Angel."  
The man stuttered to a silence and glanced over at Sherlock, a look of fear on his face. But it was only when he spotted the woman beside Sherlock that he fainted in what looked like sheer terror. Sherlock thought he would have to intervene as he felt the woman beside him tense as though she was going to leap forward and attack this one as she did Kane, but a moment later he felt her breathe deep and forcibly relax.

John on the other hand, merely let go, letting the man collapse hard to the glossy floor, causing the DI beside him to huff and curse him for injuring a person in custody. John merely shrugged and was beside Sherlock in an instant, his hand and eyes running professionally over the Detective. A tisking sound at the state of Sherlock wrists was the extent of it and Sherlock found himself being patted on the back as John's relief flooded his face.  
"God Sherlock! You had me worried there! Thank christ for those trackers in your shoes mate! Would never have thought of finding you here!" He waved and Sherlock realised they were indeed in the Financial district. SkyBound Funds as he thought.  
"John, I would have expected you to figure it out at some point. Michael Angel - Peterson's Business Partner - was the one funding the gang's work in clearing out legitimate businesses so that Peterson's company could acquire the buildings at a deserted price, once he had notified the appropriate departments of the now empty buildings in London. Mustn't do of course, to have empty buildings in those districts."  
Lestrade waved his hand, cutting Sherlock off.  
"Yeah, right mate, but who's this?" He pointed at the woman beside Sherlock.  
Sherlock looked down at her and shrugged.  
"A very interesting young woman." Was all he would say and she smiled up at him cheekily.

Sally Donovan had come forward at one point, her caring persona on as she kindly attempted to lead the woman away, but the woman had merely slunk closer to Sherlock, frowning confusedly at the dark haired woman, to Sherlock's mixed horror and delight. Well, come on, anything that caused Donovan's lip to curl like that was fun, he admitted to himself and to see it happen this way, well, a man takes his pleasures where he can.

Ambulances had appeared and John dragged Sherlock over to one to clean and wrap his wrists, the woman following closely. At one point, she even reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging until she was close again. Sherlock glanced down as John wrapped his now stinging wrists and noted that the woman was shivering slightly, her eyes flicking constantly as she repeatedly scanned the area over and over, her fingers started to worry the back of his shirt and he could feel the rising tension in the tiny shaking frame. Subtly so that anyone looking wouldn't guess his intentions, he shifted until he had her between himself and John and the ambulance door. Now anyone looking at them, would see only John tending to Sherlock's injuries. Immediately he felt the woman sag against him, her breaths coming harsh against his side. John glanced at Sherlock, flicked his eyes at the woman and looked back at Sherlock. His question was clear. Sherlock pursed his lips. He didn't know the answer to John's question and it bugged him.  
He didn't know why he cared. He rarely ever did. He knew nothing beyond his original deductions and WHY did it seem as though she trusted him? A form of stockholm syndrome maybe? Or survivor fear? He had never heard of either of those happening this fast though. And he had barely spent an hour in her presence, not nearly enough time to form a link or bond.  
"Oh for christ sake, shut up both of you." The exhausted whisper floated up between the two men. John frowned.  
"I didn't say anything." He protested.  
"Just sshhh already." She snapped back  
Sherlock looked down at the exhausted woman as she sagged against him. He was the only thing keeping her upright at the moment he saw. But the worried frown on her face spoke volumes.  
Ahh  
"You were there approx 4 months - we had an unseasonably warm day Sept 28, that would account for your attire. Your level of muscle wastage compared with your apparent skill with Kane leads me to believe that you were extremely fit before you were taken. Your acceptance of your situation when in the basement also shows that you were there longer than 3 months, but your natural resilience was still in effect so I doubt you were there for more than 6 months."

John blanched at the words and turned to the woman, his gaze now that of Doctor.  
"May I?" He asked gently, motioning to her own heavily scarred and cut wrists. After a reassuring nod from Sherlock, she held her hands out, not enough to be seen from beyond them Sherlock was quick to note. John's lips tightening was the only indication of his thoughts and Sherlock once again marvelled at his extraordinary luck in befriending this man.  
Her wrists tended to and wrapped, she again hid behind Sherlock.  
"I'm guessing that your captor wasn't Michael Angel, although he clearly knew you were there. Possibly Peterson although I was sure he was attracted to men. Your fear shows that you are concerned your captor will capture you again?"  
The woman froze beside him as she obviously thought over his words.  
After a long moment she responded with a quiet.  
"Yes... noo...I don't know." She sounded lost and Sherlock knew that that scared her more than her present situation. With a glance to John and a returning nod, He straightened.  
"Well, we can't stand around here all night, god knows Gary will try to make us do the paperwork - I don't DO paperwork" He said as an aside to his close shadow and received a tired crooked grin in return.  
"You know, I kinda guessed you don't" was the soft response.  
Sherlock scanned the area and noticed that Donovan was stomping quickly to Lestrade's side, her eyes looking through the crowds, searching for someone, her face in it's sour/happy position it always was when she thought she had something against Sherlock. A lit up phone in her hand - obviously something she felt Gavin needed to know.  
Her eyes, lighting up with baleful glee at spotting Sherlock, told him everything he needed to know.  
"I think it's time to leave John. Sally has that look."  
John glanced over his shoulder even as he was moving.  
"God, won't that woman ever give up?" He complained as he sandwiched the stranger between himself and Sherlock. Sherlock snorted.  
"I think you growing another inch will happen before that, John." Sherlock's quip was rewarded with another muffled giggle from beside him and John glanced at the woman.  
"Oi, no encouraging him!"

Twenty minutes later, they were clambering up the stairs at Baker street. Not a word had passed between the three of them the entire taxi ride and Sherlock could see that the woman was barely conscious. He gently pushed her toward the bathroom.  
"Go shower, I'll get you a cup of tea and something to eat. If you aren't back out here in 10mins, I'll be in there myself." She didn't even blink at the slight threat and stumbled into the bathroom, clothes already falling to the floor as Sherlock shut the door behind her.  
John stood there, disbelief on his face.  
"You? Make tea and dinner?"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed his annoyance.  
"John, you DO realise I did survive for 30 odd years before you arrived? Now quit asking stupid questions. Hop down to Speedy's and grab a tea and hot sandwich, put it on my account."  
John blinked in astonishment.  
"Excuse me? I've lived here for a year, how did I not know you had an account at Speedy's?"  
Sherlock threw his hands in the air as he entered his bedroom.  
"God John, stupid questions, always stupid questions! GO!" He slammed his door in frustration and went to rummage in one of the boxes in his room. There! Might be a bit big, but not by much. He had box of clothes here for when any of his homeless network popped by and needed something. Most of them were skinny so his selection rarely ran larger than small to medium anyway.  
He could hear the shower running as water ran over a body so at least she had made it into the shower. He hoped that at some point he could get the woman to let John check her over, but so far it appeared as though he was the only one she trusted slightly.  
He heard John coming back up the stairs and the scent of toasted sandwiches and hot tea seeped into Sherlock's room. Placing the clothes on his bed, he was about to rap on the bathroom door when he heard the water cut off, the pipes ceasing their subtle rattle.  
"There are clean clothes on the bed through the door to your left and food on the table." He waited until he heard the door to his room open to stride to this couch and throw himself down onto it. John Was sitting at the desk, supposedly looking at his laptop, but Sherlock knew better.  
Three..two..on..  
"Who IS she Sherlock? I mean, do you even know her name?" John, predictable as the sun rising every day.  
Sherlock braced his fingers together and placed them to his lips.  
"Something much more important than _names_ John! She's a Case!."


End file.
